When we were about to start on our way up the river from the village
of the Puncahs, we found that they were packing up all their goods and
preparing to start for the prairies, farther to the West, in pursuit
of buffaloes, to dry meat for their winter’s supplies. They took down
their wigwams of skins to carry with them, and all were flat to the
ground and everything packing up ready for the start. My attention
was directed by Major Sanford, the Indian Agent, to one of the most
miserable and helpless looking objects that I ever had seen in my life,
a very aged and emaciated man of the tribe, who he told me was to be
_exposed_.
The tribe were going where hunger and dire necessity compelled them
to go, and this pitiable object, who had once been a chief, and a man
of distinction in his tribe, who was now too old to travel, being
reduced to mere skin and bones, was to be left to starve, or meet
with such death as might fall to his lot, and his bones to be picked
by the wolves! I lingered around this poor old forsaken patriarch for
hours before we started, to indulge the tears of sympathy which were
flowing for the sake of this poor benighted and decrepit old man,
whose worn-out limbs were no longer able to support him; their kind
and faithful offices having long since been performed, and his body
and his mind doomed to linger into the withering agony of decay, and
gradual solitary death. I wept, and it was a pleasure to weep, for the
painful looks, and the dreary prospects of this old veteran, whose
eyes were dimmed, whose venerable locks were whitened by an hundred
years, whose limbs were almost naked, and trembling as he sat by a
small fire which his friends had left him, with a few sticks of wood
within his reach and a buffalo’s skin stretched upon some crotches over
his head. Such was to be his only dwelling, and such the chances for
his life, with only a few half-picked bones that were laid within his
reach, and a dish of water, without weapons or means of any kind to
replenish them, or strength to move his body from its fatal locality.
In this sad plight I mournfully contemplated this miserable remnant
of existence, who had unluckily outlived the fates and accidents of
wars to die alone, at death’s leisure. His friends and his children
had all left him, and were preparing in a little time to be on the
march. He had told them to leave him, “he was old,” he said, “and too
feeble to march.” “My children,” said he, “our nation is poor, and
it is necessary that you should all go to the country where you can
get meat,—my eyes are dimmed and my strength is no more; my days are
nearly all numbered, and I am a burthen to my children—I cannot go, and
I wish to die. Keep your hearts stout, and think not of me; I am no
longer good for anything.” In this way they had finished the ceremony
of _exposing_ him, and taken their final leave of him. I advanced to
the old man, and was undoubtedly the last human being who held converse
with him. I sat by the side of him, and though he could not distinctly
see me, he shook me heartily by the hand and smiled, evidently aware
that I was a white man, and that I sympathized with his inevitable
misfortune. I shook hands again with him, and left him, steering my
course towards the steamer which was a mile or more from me, and ready
to resume her voyage up the Missouri.[6]
This cruel custom of exposing their aged people, belongs, I think, to
all the tribes who roam about the prairies, making severe marches,
when such decrepit persons are totally unable to go, unable to ride or
to walk,—when they have no means of carrying them. It often becomes
absolutely necessary in such cases that they should be left; and they
uniformly insist upon it, saying as this old man did, that they are
old and of no further use—that they left their fathers in the same
manner—that they wish to die, and their children must not mourn for
them.
From the Puncah village, our steamer made regular progress from day
to day towards the mouth of the Teton, from where I am now writing;
passing the whole way a country of green fields, that come sloping down
to the river on either side, forming the loveliest scenes in the world.
From day to day we advanced, opening our eyes to something new and
more beautiful every hour that we progressed, until at last our boat
was aground; and a day’s work of sounding told us at last, that there
was no possibility of advancing further, until there should be a rise
in the river, to enable the boat to get over the bar. After laying in
the middle of the river about a week, in this unpromising dilemma, Mr.
Chouteau started off twenty men on foot, to cross the plains for a
distance of 200 miles to Laidlaw’s Fort, at the mouth of Teton river.
To this expedition, I immediately attached myself; and having heard
that a numerous party of Sioux were there encamped, and waiting to see
the steamer, I packed on the backs, and in the hands of several of the
men, such articles for painting, as I might want; canvass, paints, and
brushes, with my sketch-book slung on my back, and my rifle in my hand,
and I started off with them.
We took leave of our friends on the boat, and mounting the green
bluffs, steered our course from day to day over a level prairie,
without a tree or a bush in sight, to relieve the painful monotony,
filling our canteens at the occasional little streams that we passed,
kindling our fires with dried buffalo dung, which we collected on the
prairie, and stretching our tired limbs on the level turf whenever we
were overtaken by night.
We were six or seven days in performing this march; and it gave me a
good opportunity of testing the muscles of my legs, with a number of
half-breeds and Frenchmen, whose lives are mostly spent in this way,
leading a novice, a cruel, and almost killing journey. Every rod of our
way was over a continuous prairie, with a verdant green turf of wild
grass of six or eight inches in height; and most of the way enamelled
with wild flowers, and filled with a profusion of strawberries.
For two or three of the first days, the scenery was monotonous, and
became exceedingly painful from the fact, that we were (to use a
phrase of the country) “out of sight of land,” _i. e._ out of sight
of anything rising above the horizon, which was a perfect straight
line around us, like that of the blue and boundless ocean. The
pedestrian over such a discouraging sea of green, without a landmark
before or behind him; without a beacon to lead him on, or define his
progress, feels weak and overcome when night falls; and he stretches
his exhausted limbs, apparently on the same spot where he has slept
the night before, with the same prospect before and behind him; the
same grass, and the same wild flowers beneath and about him; the same
canopy over his head, and the same cheerless sea of green to start
upon in the morning. It is difficult to describe the simple beauty
and serenity of these scenes of solitude, or the feelings of feeble
man, whose limbs are toiling to carry him through them—without a hill
or tree to mark his progress, and convince him that he is not, like a
squirrel in his cage, after all his toil, standing still. One commences
on peregrinations like these, with a light heart, and a nimble foot,
and spirits as buoyant as the very air that floats along by the side of
him; but his spirit soon tires, and he lags on the way that is rendered
more tedious and intolerable by the tantalizing _mirage_ that opens
before him beautiful lakes, and lawns, and copses; or by the _looming_
of the prairie ahead of him, that seems to rise in a parapet, and
decked with its varied flowers, phantom-like, flies and moves along
before him.
I got on for a couple of days in tolerable condition, and with some
considerable applause; but my half-bred, companions took the lead at
length, and left me with several other novices far behind, which gave
me additional pangs; and I at length felt like giving up the journey,
and throwing myself upon the ground in hopeless despair. I was not
alone in my misery, however, but was cheered and encouraged by looking
back and beholding several of our party half a mile or more in the rear
of me, jogging along, and suffering more agony in their new experiment
than I was suffering myself. Their loitering and my murmurs, at length,
brought our leaders to a halt, and we held a sort of council, in which
I explained that the pain in my feet was so intolerable, that I felt as
if I could go no further; when one of our half-breed leaders stepped
up to me, and addressing me in French, told me that I must “_turn my
toes in_” as the Indians do, and that I could then go on very well. We
halted a half-hour, and took a little refreshment, whilst the little
Frenchman was teaching his lesson to the rest of my fellow-novices,
when we took up our march again; and I soon found upon trial, that by
turning my toes in, my feet went more easily through the grass; and by
turning the weight of my body more equally on the toes (enabling each
one to support its proportionable part of the load, instead of throwing
it all on to the joints of the big toes, which is done when the toes
are turned out); I soon got relief, and made my onward progress very
well. I rigidly adhered to this mode, and found no difficulty on the
third and fourth days, of taking the lead of the whole party, which I
constantly led until our journey was completed.[7]
On this journey we saw immense herds of buffaloes; and although we had
no horses to _run_ them, we successfully _approached_ them on foot,
and supplied ourselves abundantly with fresh meat. After travelling
for several days, we came in sight of a high range of blue hills in
distance on our left, which rose to the height of several hundred
feet above the level of the prairies. These hills were a conspicuous
landmark at last, and some relief to us. I was told by our guide, that
they were called the Bijou Hills, from a Fur Trader of that name, who
had had his trading-house at the foot of them on the banks of the
Missouri river, where he was at last destroyed by the Sioux Indians.
Not many miles back of this range of hills, we came in contact with an
immense saline, or “salt meadow,” as they are termed in this country,
which turned us out of our path, and compelled us to travel several
miles out of our way, to get by it; we came suddenly upon a great
depression of the prairie, which extended for several miles, and as
we stood upon its green banks, which were gracefully sloping down, we
could overlook some hundreds of acres of the prairie which were covered
with an incrustation of salt, that appeared the same as if the ground
was everywhere covered with snow.
These scenes, I am told are frequently to be met with in these regions,
and certainly present the most singular and startling effect, by the
sudden and unexpected contrast between their snow-white appearance,
and the green fields that hem them in on all sides. Through each of
these meadows there is a meandering small stream which arises from
salt springs, throwing out in the spring of the year great quantities
of water, which flood over these meadows to the depth of three or four
feet; and during the heat of summer, being exposed to the rays of
the sun, entirely evaporates, leaving the incrustation of _muriate_
on the surface, to the depth of one or two inches. These places are
the constant resort of buffaloes, which congregate in thousands about
them, to lick up the salt; and on approaching the banks of this place
we stood amazed at the almost incredible numbers of these animals,
which were in sight on the opposite banks, at the distance of a mile or
two from us, where they were lying in countless numbers, on the level
prairie above, and stretching down by hundreds, to lick at the salt,
forming in distance, large masses of black, most pleasingly to contrast
with the snow white, and the vivid green, which I have before mentioned.
After several days toil in the manner above-mentioned, all the way
over soft and green fields, and amused with many pleasing incidents
and accidents of the chase, we arrived, pretty well jaded, at Fort
Pierre, mouth of Teton River, from whence I am now writing; where for
the first time I was introduced to Mr. M‘Kenzie (of whom I have before
spoken), to Mr. Laidlaw, mine host, and Mr. Halsey, a chief clerk in
the establishment; and after, to the head chief and dignitaries of the
great Sioux nation, who were here encamped about the Fort, in six or
seven hundred skin lodges, and waiting for the arrival of the steamer,
which they had heard, was on its way up the river, and which they had
great curiosity to see.
After resting a few days, and recovering from the fatigues of my
journey, having taken a fair survey of the Sioux village, and explained
my views to the Indians, as well as to the gentlemen whom I have
above named; I commenced my operations with the brush, and first of
all painted the portrait of the head-chief of the Sioux (the one
horn), whom I have before spoken of. This truly noble fellow sat for
his portrait, and it was finished before any one of the tribe knew
anything of it; several of the chiefs and doctors were allowed to see
it, and at last it was talked of through the village; and of course,
the greater part of their numbers were at once gathered around me.
Nothing short of hanging it out of doors on the side of my wigwam,
would in any way answer them; and here I had the peculiar satisfaction
of beholding, through a small hole I had made in my wigwam, the high
admiration and respect they all felt for their chief, as well as
the very great estimation in which they held me as a painter and a
magician, conferring upon me at once the very distinguished appellation
of Ee-cha-zoo-kah-ga-wa-kon (the medicine painter).
After the exhibition of this chief’s picture, there was much excitement
in the village about it; the doctors generally took a decided and noisy
stand against the operations of my brush; haranguing the populace, and
predicting bad luck, and premature death, to all who submitted to so
strange and unaccountable an operation! My business for some days was
entirely at a stand for want of sitters; for the doctors were opposing
me with all their force; and the women and children were crying, with
their hands over their mouths, making the most pitiful and doleful
laments, which I never can explain to my readers; but for some just
account of which, I must refer them to my friends M‘Kenzie and Halsey,
who overlooked with infinite amusement, these curious scenes and are
able, no doubt, to give them with truth and effect to the world.
In this sad and perplexing dilemma, this noble chief stepped forward,
and addressing himself to the chiefs and the doctors, to the braves and
to the women and children, he told them to be quiet, and to treat me
with friendship; that I had been travelling a great way to see them,
and smoke with them; that I was great _medicine_, to be sure; that I
was a great chief, and that I was the friend of Mr. Laidlaw and Mr.
M‘Kenzie, who had prevailed upon him to sit for his picture, and fully
assured him that there was no harm in it. His speech had the desired
effect, and I was shaken hands with by hundreds of their worthies, many
of whom were soon dressed and ornamented, prepared to sit for their
portraits.[8]
The first who then stepped forward for his portrait was Ee-ah-sa-pa
(the Black Rock) chief of the Nee-caw-wee-gee band (+plate+ 91), a tall
and fine looking man, of six feet or more in stature; in a splendid
dress, with his lance in his hand; with his pictured robe thrown
gracefully over his shoulders, and his head-dress made of war-eagles’
quills and ermine skins, falling in a beautiful crest over his back,
quite down to his feet, and surmounted on the top with a pair of horns
denoting him (as I have explained in former instances) head leader or
war-chief of his band.
This man has been a constant and faithful friend of Mr. M‘Kenzie and
others of the Fur Traders, who held him in high estimation, both as an
honourable and valiant man, and an estimable companion.
The next who sat to me was Tchan-dee, tobacco (+plate+ 92), a desperate
warrior, and represented to me by the traders, as one of the most
respectable and famous chiefs of the tribe. After him sat Toh-ki-ee-to,
the stone with horns (+plate+ 93), chief of the Yanc-ton band, and
reputed the principal and most eloquent _orator_ of the nation. The
neck, and breast, and shoulders of this man, were curiously tattooed,
by pricking in gunpowder and vermilion, which in this extraordinary
instance, was put on in such elaborate profusion as to appear at a
little distance like a beautifully embroidered dress. In his hand he
held a handsome pipe, the stem of which was several feet long, and all
the way wound with ornamented braids of the porcupine quills. Around
his body was wrapped a valued robe, made of the skin of the grizzly
bear, and on his neck several strings of _wampum_, an ornament seldom
seen amongst the Indians in the Far West and the North.[9] I was
much amused with the excessive vanity and egotism of this notorious
man, who, whilst sitting for his picture, took occasion to have the
interpreter constantly explaining to me the wonderful effects which his
oratory had at different times produced on the minds of the chiefs and
people of his tribe.
[Illustration: 92 93]
[Illustration: 94 95]
[Illustration: 96]
[Illustration: 97]
He told me, that it was a very easy thing for him to set all the women
of the tribe to crying: and that all the chiefs listened profoundly to
his voice before they went to war; and at last, summed up by saying,
that he was “the greatest orator in the Sioux nation,” by which he
undoubtedly meant the greatest in the _world_.
Besides these _distingués_ of this great and powerful tribe, I
painted in regular succession, according to their rank and standing,
Wan-ee-ton, chief of the _Susseton band_; Tah-zee-kah-da-cha (the torn
belly), a brave of the _Yancton band_; Ka-pes-ka-day (the shell), a
brave of the _O-gla-la band_; Wuk-mi-ser (corn), a warrior of the
_Nee-cow-ee-gee band_; Cha-tee-wah-nee-chee (no heart), chief of the
_Wah-nee-watch-to-nee-nah band_; Mah-to-ra-rish-nee-eeh-ee-rah (the
grizzly bear that runs without regard), a brave of the _Onc-pa-pa
band_; Mah-to-chee-ga (the little bear), a distinguished brave;
Shon-ka (the dog), chief of the _Ca-za-zhee-ta_ (bad arrow points)
_band_; Tah-teck-a-da-hair (the steep wind), a brave of the same
band; Hah-ha-ra-pah (the elk’s head), chief of the _Ee-ta-sip-shov
band_; Mah-to-een-nah-pa (the white bear that goes out), chief of the
_Blackfoot Sioux band_; Shon-ga-ton-ga-chesh-en-day (the horse dung),
chief of a band, a great conjuror and magician.
The portraits of all the above dignitaries can be always seen, as large
as life, in my very numerous Collection, provided I get them safe
home; and also the portraits of two very pretty Sioux women (+plate+
94), Wi-looh-tah-eeh-tchah-ta-mah-nee (the red thing that touches
in marching), and (+plate+ 95), Tchon-su-mons-ka (the sand bar). The
first of these women (+plate+ 94), is the daughter of the famous chief
called Black Rock, of whom I have spoken, and whose portrait has been
given (+plate+ 91). She is an unmarried girl, and much esteemed by the
whole tribe, for her modesty, as well as beauty. She was beautifully
dressed in skins, ornamented profusely with brass buttons and beads.
Her hair was plaited, her ears supported a great profusion of curious
beads—and over her other dress she wore a handsomely garnished buffalo
robe.
So highly was the Black Rock esteemed (as I have before mentioned), and
his beautiful daughter admired and respected by the Traders, that Mr.
M‘Kenzie employed me to make him copies of their two portraits, which
he has hung up in Mr. Laidlaw’s trading-house, as valued ornaments and
keepsakes.[10]
The second of these women (+plate+ 95) was very richly dressed, the
upper part of her garment being almost literally covered with brass
buttons; and her hair, which was inimitably beautiful and soft, and
glossy as silk, fell over her shoulders in great profusion, and in
beautiful waves, produced by the condition in which it is generally
kept in braids, giving to it, when combed out, a waving form, adding
much to its native appearance, which is invariably straight and
graceless.
This woman is at present the wife of a white man by the name of
Chardon, a Frenchman, who has been many years in the employment of the
American Fur Company, in the character of a Trader and Interpreter;
and who by his bold and daring nature, has not only carried dread and
consternation amongst the Indian tribes wherever he has gone; but
has commanded much respect, and rendered essential service to the
Company in the prosecution of their dangerous and critical dealings
with the Indian tribes. I have said something of this extraordinary
man heretofore, and shall take future occasion to say more of him.
For the present, suffice it to say, that although from his continual
intercourse with the different tribes for twenty-five or thirty years,
where he had always been put forward in the front of danger—sent
as a sacrifice, or _forlorn hope_; still his cut and hacked limbs
have withstood all the blows that have been aimed at them; and his
unfaltering courage leads him to “beard the lion in his den,” whilst
his liberal heart, as it always has, deals out to his friends (and even
to strangers, if friends are not by) all the dear earnings which are
continually bought with severest toil, and at the hazard of his life.
I acknowledge myself a debtor to this good hearted fellow for much
kindness and attention to me whilst in the Indian country, and also for
a superb dress and robe, which had been manufactured and worn by his
wife, and which he insisted on adding to my +Indian Gallery+ since her
death, where it will long remain to be examined.[11]
[6] When passing by the site of the Puncah village a few months
after this, in my canoe, I went ashore with my men, and found the
poles and the buffalo skin, standing as they were left, over the
old man’s head. The firebrands were lying nearly as I had left
them, and I found at a few yards distant the skull, and others of
his bones, which had been picked and cleaned by the wolves; which
is probably all that any human being can ever know of his final and
melancholy fate.
[7] On this march we were all travelling in moccasins, which being
made without any soles, according to the Indian custom, had but
little support for the foot underneath; and consequently, soon
subjected us to excruciating pain, whilst walking according to the
civilized mode, with the toes turned out. From this very painful
experience I learned to my complete satisfaction, that man in a
state of nature who walks on his naked feet, _must_ walk with his
toes turned in, that each may perform the duties assigned to it in
proportion to its size and strength; and that civilized man _can_
walk with his toes turned out if he chooses, if he will use a stiff
sole under his feet, and will be content at last to put up with an
acquired deformity of the big toe joint which too many know to be a
frequent and painful occurrence.
[8] Several years after I painted the portrait of this
extraordinary man, and whilst I was delivering my Lectures in the
City of New York, I first received intelligence of his death,
in the following singular manner:—I was on the platform in my
Lecture-room, in the Stuyvesant Institute, with an audience of
twelve or fourteen hundred persons, in the midst of whom were
seated a delegation of thirty or forty Sioux Indians under the
charge of Major Pilcher, their agent; and I was successfully
passing before their eyes the portraits of a number of Sioux
chiefs, and making my remarks upon them. The Sioux instantly
recognized each one as it was exhibited, which they instantly
hailed by a sharp and startling yelp. But when the portrait of this
chief was placed before them, instead of the usual recognition,
each one placed his hand over his mouth, and gave a “hush—sh—” and
hung down their heads, their usual expressions of grief in case of
a death. From this sudden emotion, I knew instantly, that the chief
must be dead, and so expressed my belief to the audience. I stopped
my Lecture a few moments to converse with Major Pilcher who was by
my side, and who gave me the following extraordinary account of his
death, which I immediately related to the audience; and which being
translated to the Sioux Indians, their chief arose and addressed
himself to the audience, saying that the account was true, and that
Ha-wan-je-tah was killed but a few days before they left home.